


The Unquiet Grave

by gellavonhamster



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Multi, ambiguous timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gellavonhamster/pseuds/gellavonhamster
Summary: While staying in the City, R decides to visit the grave of those she mourns, and meets someone she hadn't dared to hope she'd see again.Originally posted in Russian as Part 2 of "Группа Пропащих Волонтёров".





	The Unquiet Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Группа Пропащих Волонтёров](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039004) by [gellavonhamster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gellavonhamster/pseuds/gellavonhamster). 



> [ **the song from the title & epigraph** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pB0g59T8Pg0)

_Cold blows the wind to my true love,_

_And gently falls the rain._

_I never had but one true love,_

_And in greenwood she lies slain._

The man who’s been following her all the way to the graveyard does not make a sound when she turns around in a swift move and pushes him against the wall of the nearest vault. Does not say a word when she tears his wide-brimmed hat off him. And when she sees his face and shudders and steps back, he does not say anything either – just smiles, somewhat guiltily. 

“Lemony,” she whispers, not able to believe her eyes.

The man who’s been following her all the way to the graveyard bows his head slightly:

“Your Grace.”

It has happened more than a few times, him referring to her by her title in jest, but hearing it still sends shivers down her spine. The number of people she trusts has grown thrice shorter lately. She must make sure thoroughly that the one standing in front of her now is really one of those still on her side. 

“Is that really you, Lemony?” she asks, trying not to show how nervous she actually is. “ _The_ _Daily Punctilio_ claimed you’re dead.”

“How long have you been trusting everything they write in the _Punctilio_ , Ramona?”

“Fair enough. But you wouldn’t mind me asking you a few questions to make sure it’s actually you, wouldn’t you? Say, how many words should be between each two words of a message encrypted via the Sebald Code?”

“Not in the slightest. It is highly reasonable – and as to words, there should be ten of them. By the way, what colour is the car parked by the Orion Observatory? With your permission, I, too, would like to make certain I’m not talking to an impostor right now.”  

“Black. But it’s all easy to find out knowing where to look. What gift did I bring you from Monaco?”

“A music box that plays _In the Hall of the Mountain King_. And what did I bring you from Venice?”

“A fan with a built-in blade.”

Strictly speaking, this is not quite enough either. But she has managed to examine him closely, to listen to him speak carefully, and she is positive that the person in front of her is her friend, her associate, the boy she used to sleep together with in the large armchair in the main parlour of the third headquarters for the first couple of weeks in VFD because they both suffered from nightmares and missed home. Before he embraces her, she already knows how it would feel; always liked to hug the Snicket brothers, both sturdy and snuggly like big teddy bears, only Jacques is much taller while she and Lemony have always been the same height. That’s why it has always been easy for them to bury their faces in each other’s shoulders when one of them felt like crying. Sometimes, they both cried. Case in point: right now.  

“I haven’t doubted you’re alive,” she murmurs hotly into his threadbare cashmere coat. “I’m so happy you’re alive, L.” 

“I am happy I’m alive, too,” Lemony responds, though he sounds nowhere near to happy. He pulls back a little and regards her seriously. “But no one must know about it, R. You shouldn’t have known either but now that you do, I must implore you not to tell anyone about it.” 

“Even Jacques? Even Kit?”

“Especially Jacques and especially Kit. They’d try to find me, which is too risky at the moment. I shall get in touch with them myself if needed.”

“Cruel, but all right. Did you follow me all the way from home?”

“Almost. I have not planned it but I happened to be nearby, and became curious where you were headed, having left through the back door and wearing a veiled hat.”

Shouldn’t have known indeed. Something tells her that in truth he’s been dying to talk to someone, that he couldn’t bear complete loneliness any longer. However, if he doesn’t want to admit it, that’s up to him.  

“As you can see, I was headed to leave a couple of lilies on the graves of the people,” she gestures at the tombstones, “whose friendship is akin to a death sentence these days.”

Lemony nods.

“I have been thinking of coming here for a long time myself,” he says, keeping his eyes on one of the graves. “But I didn’t have an opportunity.”

They contemplate the graves in silence for some time. _Bertrand Baudelaire_ , reads the first one. _Beatrice Baudelaire,_ says the other. Youthful laughter in a huge dust-smelling library; a bat on one’s palm. Stones, stones – nothing but stones now. 

“I was thinking of Bertrand recently,” Lemony says at last. He looks away, and in his mind he’s still clearly someplace else. “Remember Theodora Markson?”

“The one with…” waving her hands, she tries to show a shock of hair and succeeds, apparently, because Lemony chuckles, and she follows suit.

“Exactly.”

“Your chaperone, wasn’t she?”

“She was. And Bertrand was her apprentice before me.”

“Seriously?”

“Couldn’t be more serious. And she talked my ears off about him. Bertrand this and Bertrand that. Bertrand obeys his superiors while all you do is talk back. Bertrand shall marry and have children and live happily, but you will die in solitude, in some rented apartment with moldy walls…” 

“Did she really say it in so many words?”

“I might have added the apartment part by way of illustration, but that’s the point. What I am saying,” Lemony turns to face the tombstones again, “is that even prior to… all of this I had my reasons to have no special liking for him. And so I did. But now I’m looking at this marble, and I understand that I’d give an arm and a leg to have him back with us safe and sound, and to hear him play us Mozart on the grand piano once again. And as to… her…” he falters and she embraces him again and makes yet another note of their exceedingly advantageous likeness in height.

“I miss her,” he whispers chokingly. “I know you understand”. And oh, she does, she understands like no one else would. The silk of black hair; soft lips touching her cheek; a bat on one’s palm. The ring she gave Lemony so that he could offer it together with his hand and his heart; the ring that would have been of no use to her anyway – and if only there had been any possibility for her to use it as intended, it would still have ended up on the finger of the one whom he was going to give it.   

“I understand, Lemony,” she says, stroking his hair. Stones, stones – nothing but stones now. Stones – and ashes. “I understand.”


End file.
